To solve it; and ’tis like to mad my brain
If it be kept in shroud. A husband sees
His wife defiled—defiled? Speak roundly—murdered!
Murdered! Nay more, condemned herself to murder
If this God-mocker pay not answering blood.
The husband is a monarch, bears the sword
Of Diké, nor need crave from the Erinnyes
Her borrowed dagger; knows ’tis holy duty
The hideous sin to punish, even if love
Spur not revenge; is bound before the gods